The shattered light bulb felt like a starting pistol. They knew we were getting close. The black SUV was now a permanent fixture, parked just far enough away to be deniable. We couldn't meet at our usual spots anymore.
Leo came through again. His Tito Ben owned a small, closed-down sari-sari store near the market that had been shuttered for years. The lock was rusted, but Leo knew how to jimmy the back window open. It became our war room.
The place was a time capsule, filled with dusty cans of sardines and faded packets of shampoo from a decade ago. It smelled of stale air and forgotten dreams. We covered the windows with cardboard. Luna's presence seemed stronger here, away from prying eyes, her form less flickery.
In the dim light of Leo's battery-powered lantern, we spread out the sketchbook and Leo's laptop. This was our base of operations. Our safe house. Here, we were no longer just students; we were conspirators against a powerful, hidden enemy. The fear was still there, but it was now fused with a potent sense of purpose.